


Wreath of Ivy

by Mad_Mage



Series: Soulmates AU [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempt at Humor, Beware of wolf packs, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Growling Lannisters, Hear me purr, Irritated big cats, Light Angst, Older Man/Younger Woman, Reincarnation, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29336409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Lord Lannister had a soulmark! Arya wasn’t sure how these things worked exactly. She knew that they were supposed to lead one to their perfect partner, the love of their life or whatever. It bound two hearts and bodies as one soul or something like that. Sansa had said so. But it was hard to believe that a Lannister had one. Heart, Arya meant. Wasn’t the mark a fake?The mark sparkled in the dim light of the room as the magic coursed through it. No, it wasn’t a fake. The magic was really there and it meant… If Sansa’s mark looked exactly like Lord Tywin’s, did it mean…? Arya paled.---An AU story featuring yet another soulbond, haughty lions with long claws, and sassy wolf ladies with sharp teeth. Oh, and there’s also fluff. Lots of it.
Relationships: Joanna Lannister/Tywin Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister & Arya Stark, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Series: Soulmates AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465219
Comments: 151
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.  
> \---  
> Welcome to the story! It’s another Ty/Sansa and… yeah, it’s another soulmate fiction *shrugs* I just like that premise and hope you won’t mind too much *winks* Have fun :)

_Harrenhal_

Arya had already killed once. It hadn’t been something she had planned to do but she had done the deed with her own hands anyway. She had watched the life go out of a boy’s eyes. It made her a killer, didn’t it?

Watching the razor she had just placed at the desk, Arya wondered what it would take to make her a murderer.

Her position as a cupbearer was something she had not expected. It was as close to being a page or a squire as a girl could hope to get, after all. Lord Tywin did not wear armor at Harrenhal, so he did not require her help in getting into it. She wouldn’t be riding to battle at his side or getting any useful tips on how to stick them with a pointy end as a squire would either.

Still, it was a position of great trust. She fetched Lord Tywin’s meals, his drinks, his clothes. She ran small errands for him. She tidied his desk, his rooms, was responsible for his sword and armor to be in perfect condition.

Many noble boys dreamt of her position. It was a sign of honor and trust.

Arya thought that Lord Tywin was an idiot for making an unknown girl his cupbearer. Why didn’t he have one of his Lannister nephews as his squire? Someone loyal?

There were so many opportunities for Arya to stab his unprotected back or slip something into his food or drink after she tasted it. She had made sure that some unread missives had gone missing, too. She could murder him easily, couldn’t she?

Arya thought of it almost every day – every time she set the table and held the cutlery in her hands. She thought of it every time she fetched Lord Tywin’s drink.

Her father’s face always stayed those thoughts. Her father had been an honorable man. He wouldn’t have betrayed anyone’s trust – even his enemy’s. He would not want Arya to become a murderer. There was nothing to be done about being a killer – it had been in self-defense, hadn’t it? But planning to murder someone in cold blood at his most vulnerable, planning to murder someone who had trusted her…

Someone who Arya unexpectedly _liked_. Lord Tywin wasn’t anything like the idiot Joffrey or the other lords Arya had ever met. People feared him not because he was powerful but because he was also clever. He saw straight through her from the very beginning and instead of being all preachy about Arya not being a proper girl, he complimented her intelligence. He knew well that Arya was lying and he offered advice on how to mask her origins better instead of demanding her to tell the truth. He looked at her and didn’t see Arya as a troublesome little lady but someone smarter than half of his commanders.

Arya swallowed heavily and looked away from the razor. It was kind of sad that her own family couldn’t see her as clearly as an enemy lord. And she was pretty sure that not many people looked at the man and saw him either.

She liked their talks and knew that he did, too. Nobody seemed to want to talk to him. They were scared shitless by the very idea of being in the same room, let alone talking about something. Arya was probably the only person in the whole castle who not only listened and understood what Lord Tywin was saying but dared to talk to him like a person and not a bootlicker would.

That stable boy… Arya hadn’t known him. He wasn’t a person to her. But Lord Tywin was and Arya knew him. He had a family and loved them just like her – though his was horrible. But she supposed that one could not choose their family.

She shouldn’t be here anymore, she realized with a start. The routine was always the same. She prepared Lord Tywin’s bath and shaving stuff and made herself scarce for the remainder of the night.

Hearing muffled footsteps coming from Lord Tywin’s bedchamber, Arya hurried to the other door leading into the corridor.

“What are you still doing here, girl?” asked a deep voice sharply.

Arya jumped half a foot in the air. She couldn’t believe that she had let herself get caught! So close to the door!

“My lord!” she managed to say and tried quickly to think of something to add, turning toward the voice.

Lord Tywin was frowning at her – more surprised than angry, she guessed – as he was standing there with one of his arms still stuck in the sleeve of his shirt, which he had been pulling off. Arya resolutely tried not to look anywhere at his naked chest – because that was just gross – but all her efforts were in vain.

As soon as she caught a glance of a spot above his heart, Arya couldn’t stop herself from staring at it in silent shock, her eyes growing wide and mouth hanging open.

Lord Lannister had a soulmark! Arya wasn’t sure how these things worked exactly. She knew that they were supposed to lead one to their perfect partner, the love of their life or whatever. It bound two hearts and bodies as one soul or something like that. Sansa had said so. But it was hard to believe that a Lannister had one. Heart, Arya meant. Wasn’t the mark a fake?

Arya blinked and took a step closer to Lord Tywin unconsciously, squinting at the mark. Then she stopped breathing.

It was a yellow and green wreath of ivy surrounding a single sword lily with white and red petals. The ivy symbolized fidelity and eternal life because it was evergreen and it didn’t let go easily once it attached itself to something. The flower symbolized strength, strong character, honor, and moral integrity. Never-ending circle. Eternal love.

 _Yuck_. Arya would know. Her sister had spent hours talking about it when they had been younger, back at home. She had spent hours talking about it in King’s Landing, too, saying that the wreath looked a lot like a crown because it was not yellow and green but golden and emerald, so of course it had to mean that Prince Joffrey was her soulmate.

Sansa had the same mark in the exactly same spot. 

That realization hit Arya. It was like a kick to the gut and she gasped as she watched it, growing horror spreading through her body. She didn’t get along with her sister most of the time but Arya kind of loved her even though Sansa was as stupid as girls could get. 

The mark sparkled in the dim light of the room as the magic coursed through it and Arya’s face blanched. No, it wasn’t a fake. The magic was really there and it meant… If Sansa’s mark looked exactly like Lord Tywin’s, did it mean…?

Arya paled and raised her eyes to look into the utterly furious face of Lord Lannister.

Had he been saying something? He sure had put his shirt back on, thankfully. Arya had no idea what had been going on in the last several seconds. She started to tremble when he advanced toward her, eyes glittering with rage, hands tightly fisted.

“What did you say, girl?” he growled and Arya had the distinct impression that he wanted to reach for her and shake her roughly.

What had she said? Her mind went blank. Oh, no. She hadn’t blabbered any of her thoughts aloud, had she?

“Have you seen the mark before?” Lord Tywin was forcing his voice to sound calmer, steadier, but Arya wasn’t fooled. He still wanted to roar at her. Now Arya could understand why all his bannermen wanted to steer clear of Lord Tywin. If they had seen him this furious before, it made sense. She shook her head mutely and started to back away.

Stupid, stupid! Arya just hoped she hadn’t uttered Sansa’s name. That would be bad. Kill him and try to survive running from the castle kind of bad.

Lord Tywin grabbed her shoulders but instead of shaking her, he went to kneel in front of her, bringing their faces to the same level and forcing Arya to look into his eyes. Softer than she had ever heard him speak, he asked, “Who bears the same mark?”

His eyes had always been cold and expressionless like stones but she could swear that she saw something different in them, something that she didn’t quite know how to name. But it was earnest and she did not want to kill Lord Tywin and run away. She did not want to have him as an enemy. Even while pretending to be someone else, Arya had never been more herself than in Harrehall in the company of the gruff Lion of Lannister.

“My sister,” she whispered. Arya then closed her eyes as she remembered all the times when Sansa had gasped in pain, her hand flying to clutch at her chest for no apparent reason when they had been children. Sansa had felt every time something had happened to her soulmate, every minor injury from falling off their horse to cutting their fingers on dinner knives. What was worse, she could always even tell _what_ it was.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek, her clever mind going through memories of the last few months here in the castle. How many times had Lord Tywin stiffened in the middle of the war council, clenching his jaw as if in pain? How many times had she seen him rub at his chest, looking tense and angry for no apparent reason?

What was happening to her sister in King’s Landing? What were the other Lannisters doing to her? Could Lord Tywin tell? Could he stop it? It couldn’t be anything good, Arya knew.

She watched him as he breathed through his nose slowly. His gaze sharpened as he dug his fingers into Arya’s shoulders more firmly, making her wince.

“Did your family treat you badly? Is that why you ran away?” he asked next, voice tight. “Did they… abuse you and your sister?”

 _What?_ Arya felt the heat rising into her cheeks as she snapped her jaw shut. They were beating Sansa? Always polite, always smiling, always courteous Sansa who wanted to be everyone’s best friend?

“My family loves us. They will kill everyone who tries to harm us!” she spat angrily. If he wasn’t going to stop it, Arya would! She would find a way! She was smart, and she was a wolf!

“ _I_ will kill everyone who tries to harm you and your sister,” he said in a dangerous voice that sent shivers down her spine. Arya blinked in surprise. She believed that he wanted to, for sure, but she didn’t think he would kill his daughter and grandson. Would he?

“Anyone?” she asked doubtfully and Lord Tywin snorted at her tone.

“I think I have indulged you long enough, girl. Tell me your name so we can sort this out quickly. There’s a war to be fought still.”

“What will you do to my sister once you know?” Arya asked instead, looking into his cool eyes solemnly. “You’ll have to promise me that you won’t harm her. Or me. Or our family.”

“Careful. You’re not in a position to negotiate.” There was a hint of impatience in his voice now. His jaw worked for a moment and then Lord Tywin added, “But I promise not to harm you. I enjoy your wit too much for that, and as for your sister…”

Lord Tywin’s whole face softened and it shook Arya more than anything else that evening. Maybe there was some truth to all Sansa’s blabbering – there was no other explanation for the pleased expression on his face.

“No harm will ever come to her as long as I live. Will that suffice?”

Arya nodded mutely. She was well aware that he did not promise not to harm the rest of her family. Well. She could press but it wouldn’t matter. Lord Tywin was not going to promise something like that while not knowing who Arya’s family was. She looked him in the eye, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin, ignoring the amused glint in his eyes.

“I’m Arya Stark,” she pronounced clearly and watched with a grin as _his_ face blanched for a second. But to Arya’s surprise, he snorted again and shook his head.

“Should have guessed that myself.” He leaned closer and observed her face for a few seconds. “You have your father’s look. A stonemason, indeed!”

Arya gave him a cheeky grin as Lord Tywin rose to his feet. One of his hands remained on her shoulder, though, forcing her to look up.

“Well then, my lady. You and I are going to write a letter to your brother and sue for peace. This has been going on for far too long, don’t you think?”

“Will you return me to my family?” Arya held her breath as she searched his face. There wasn’t a single trace of that look from before, though, there was seemingly nothing soft in Lord Tywin. Arya doubted that she could go home. She wasn’t stupid enough not to understand that she was a valuable hostage against Robb. Then another horrifying thought entered her mind. “Will you make me wear a dress?”

“That would serve you right for lying, wouldn’t it?” Lord Tywin smirked at her. “But dresses are too impractical for long hours in the saddle, so I suppose that particular fate would have to wait until you are at Riverrun.”

She was going to see Mother and Robb! Relief and happiness flooding her, Arya grinned at him and felt as he squeezed her shoulder slightly.

“Now get out of my chambers so I can bathe in peace. Be here with ink and parchment in half an hour.”

“Yes, my lord.” Arya offered him another cheeky grin and rushed toward the door, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She couldn’t believe her luck and hoped that this wasn’t a stupid dream. That he wasn’t lying.

“And girl?” Lord Tywin called after her. She stopped, already halfway through the door, and turned back.

His expression was dark and foreboding and Arya swallowed nervously as she waited for his next words. Was he going to take his word back? Was he going to wage war against the Starks? Arya didn’t know much about soulmarks but she knew it meant something to them, to her sister and Lord Tywin. Surely he wouldn’t want to harm Sansa’s family…

“I will be most displeased should you try and run away. Don’t make me regret the trust I have in you.”

“I wouldn’t!” Arya protested loudly. Trust was a fragile thing. The idea had not even crossed her mind – well, not since he had promised. She repeated that in her head all the way down to the kitchens for something to eat. He had promised and Arya had no reason to doubt his word. He wouldn’t give it lightly because he intended to keep it, she was sure. Lord Tywin was a formidable enemy and she would be quite stupid not to have him as an ally, not to trust him in this. He was going to be her good-brother, after all.

Eternal love. _Yuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wolf pack meets their new member, who happens to be a lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring break and lots of snow outside mean that mages are left in peace to have fun with fanfics! Enjoy the next chapter :)

_High Heart_

The truce was only temporary. Tywin felt and completely ignored the tension in his host of a thousand riders as he rode to the top of the hill. In one hand, he held lightly the reins of his horse – in the other, the reins of Arya’s mare.

The girl was sending him murderous glares which were ignored as well. He was not about to present a young lady under his care to her mother in filthy rags. The dress was nice. Arya had not been able to convince him otherwise. Tywin had no idea if Lady Sansa was of the same disposition as her sister. While he enjoyed the younger Stark girl’s wit and cheekiness, he hoped it wasn’t the case.

Gods knew he would not enjoy constantly squabbling with his wife. Tywin knew himself quite well and he knew what he needed in a wife. He supposed that a soulmate should be well equipped to fulfill that role.

Tywin did not doubt that Lady Sansa was worth the trouble he had to go through to secure her hand, though. He had already been married to her, after all, and the feeling of completeness that accompanied a full soulbond was worth everything. Ever since the mark had come back to life some fifteen years ago, he had not doubted for a second that their paths would cross again. Soulmates had the fortunate habit of finding each other again and again across their many lives and incarnations.

Tywin felt like he could breathe freely for the first time in a year. Joanna’s death had broken him and ever since he had started to feel his soul’s abuse, he had been afraid of losing his mind. But he hadn’t known her name and had been caught up in a war. What had been Tywin supposed to do? Let his family crumble, let the Seven Kingdoms succumb to chaos while he rode from town to town, from a castle to castle, foolishly searching for a woman whose face he did not know? Had he been younger, had he been born not a Lannister, then perhaps… But Lannisters didn’t act like fools.

Now, though? Now it was only a matter of time until he would see her. He was a patient man and he would win her affections and forgiveness for the delay. Well, more patient than most, at least, he smirked. His soul had taken her time being reborn and growing up – as a Stark of Winterfell no less! The gods surely had a sense of humor but Tywin did not doubt their providence.

They had given him a perfect tool to end the war without more casualties and without damaging his pride and reputation too much. Any man would do what Tywin was just doing for the sake of his soul’s mate. He was going to come out of this whole mess smelling better than Olenna’s prized bed of roses.

Amused by his thoughts, he stopped. The surrounding land was flat and he would spot a trap even half-blind from their position. To Tywin’s satisfaction, there was no sign of it. Looking down the hill, he roughly estimated the Stark host to be also one thousand men strong and watched the two riders that were making their way up the hill as well.

Arya maneuvered her horse next to his and they both stared at the figures in silence. The girl looked on the verge of tears but bit her bottom lip several times and got over herself.

“Are you nervous?”

“No.” There was a pause and she sent him a quick, searching glance. “Are you, m’lord?”

So, she had finally learned the difference. Tywin smirked at her and lifted an eyebrow. What a stupid question.

“Well, Robb’s letters didn’t sound promising!” Arya shrugged and then fell silent as her family approached.

Tywin tilted his head back slightly, observing the pair of Starks cautiously. Robb Stark was a man grown with the build and bearing of a fighter though he couldn’t be older than eighteen. He was trying to keep his face expressionless but was failing miserably. His eyes were bright and he fought his emotions as he spurred the horse, urging it to run quicker.

Lady Catelyn was better at this than her son. Only her glistening eyes betrayed her elation when they rested on Arya’s fidgeting form. And they flashed with steel when she met Tywin’s gaze.

“Well met, Lord Lannister.” Lady Stark was the first to speak, echoed by her son. Their eyes kept straying to their daughter and sister, however. Were they even paying attention to him?

“Lady Stark, Lord Stark,” he said with a sigh. A discreet glance let Tywin know that Arya was beaming at them in return.

“I am the King in the North.” So, that got the boy’s attention at least. He had the gall to look offended, narrowing his eyes and setting his jaw. It gave him the appearance of a petulant child.

“Yes, I’m duly impressed,” Tywin observed him fume and then turned his attention to Arya.

“Go on girl, you are free to go.”

With a whoop, Arya jumped from her horse, flying into her brother’s arms. Lord Stark caught her clumsily while Lady Stark brushed her hair and then carefully wrapped her arms around the child as if afraid that Arya would disappear in a puff of smoke.

“We didn’t dare to believe it,” said the boy and turned his bright blue eyes to him. “We have nothing to trade her for as I’m sure you know.”

Tywin did know. His spies had informed him that the Starks had lost Jaime and his best scouts were currently searching for his wayward eldest son. Knowing Jaime, he needed to secure him as soon as possible – otherwise, his son’s cheek would get him into trouble. 

“Yes. Consider it a sign of my goodwill, Lord Stark.” Tywin inclined his head and held his breath for a split of a second, feeling his anticipation build up. This should be good. “We are to be family, after all.”

“If you think for a moment that any northern lord would consider Sansa’s marriage to Joffrey legal, you are mistaken, my lord!” Lady Stark spoke with fire and Tywin focused his gaze at her.

According to Arya’s words, Sansa took after their mother. Lady Stark was a beautiful woman despite the new lines grief had carved into her face. If Lady Sansa looked anything like her lady mother, Tywin was pleased. Resting his gaze upon his soul’s beauty would be… He had to blink to stop his mind from going in that direction. It wouldn’t do to be distracted, mooning over his soul. He would see her soon enough. He would have her without a doubt.

“My grandson will marry Lady Sansa over my dead body,” he said dryly. Tywin was half-tempted to have his grandson caned for allowing Sansa to be harmed under his care. Had the boy no control over what was happening in the Red Keep under his very nose?

Arya let out an amused snort, grinning at him from the safety of Robb’s arms. She was going to enjoy the show, wasn’t she? He would miss the little menace, her quick wit, and backtalk, their conversations. 

Tywin and the little cub had already agreed – Arya could visit his lady wife any time she wanted and Tywin would make sure to let Arya run around the castle in whatever clothes she deemed appropriate. He might or might not allow her to watch his household guards train with weapons, too, as long as she took her lessons with maesters seriously. She was a sharp little thing and he was not going to let it go to waste.

Lady Stark exchanged a bewildered glance with her son. “I am afraid I do not understand, then.”

“It is rather simple.” Tywin wondered if Arya was actually going to be any help in this matter. From the look of gleeful anticipation on her face, Tywin guessed he was on his own, though.

“I request Lady Sansa’s hand in marriage to cement our newfound… Alliance.”

“For whom?” asked Robb while Lady Stark blanched, catching on immediately.

Tywin looked at the boy with his eyebrow raised. Were all the pups asking such stupid questions? The Young Wolf was a genius on the battlefield but he was still a green boy in other matters. He turned toward Lady Stark and waited.

“No!” He did not have to wait too long. Lady Stark was deadly pale, clutching the reins of her horse tightly. She was staring daggers at him and Tywin finally understood where Arya had gotten her murderous look from.

“Oh, yes. I assure you.” He inclined his head politely at the woman.

“He has the same mark Sansa has,” said Arya finally before the situation could escalate. She wriggled free of her brother’s embrace and nimbly jumped back into the saddle of her mare. Tywin passed her the reins and she grinned at him. “He’s going to be my good-brother. That’s great, isn’t it? I mean, my first good-sibling and it’s a lion!”

The other two Starks gaped at them and Tywin almost smiled and carefully avoided meeting Arya’s gaze. Securing her as his ally had been a simple matter. All it had taken was to give her Needle back, and treat her as he had always treated his cupbearer – with only a little more warmth behind his words. While cupbearers were easy to come by, good-sisters were a rarer occurrence.

“What?”

Oh my, the boy was rather slow, wasn’t he? Perhaps it would be better if he did not father any heirs and Winterfell passed on to Tywin’s and Sansa’s younger son. He refused to contemplate the possibility that his soulmate was also as slow as her older brother. 

“A wreath of golden and emerald ivy leaves surrounding sword lily with ruby and ivory petals,” he said casually, ignoring their shocked gasps that he had revealed the shape of his mark to strangers. “Lady Arya has informed me that her older sister shares the mark with me. Let’s not fool ourselves any longer. My asking you is only out of respect to my future wife’s family, Lady Stark. We are already wed in the eyes of all the gods you can name.”

Arya let out a sound like she was choking and Tywin decided that no, there wouldn’t be any sword training for the young lady. She was going to enjoy an hour a day with the most boring septa Tywin could find.

Lord Stark spluttered but fell silent as Lady Stark placed her hand on his forearm and shook her head. She looked back at Tywin, eyes cold and steely, lips pursed tightly.

“We can’t defy the gods, of course,” she said. “But we will have to think carefully about what this means to us all, what my daughter thinks of it…”

“I wouldn’t have thought that a Tully could be a kinslayer or a Stark capable of sacrificing his family for his selfish pride. Then again, you did cause the death of your younger brothers already…”

Arya stopped laughing, her eyes growing round. Robb Stark became completely still, his lips bared in a feral, wolfish grimace. Lady Stark looked as if Tywin had slapped her, two spots of color rising in her otherwise pale cheeks.

“What do you think you can do in your position, Lord Stark? My lady?” Tywin asked them nonchalantly and frowned down at a dry straw of grass that somehow managed to cling to his sash. He reached for it, raising it to his eye-level.

“Will you declare for Stannis Baratheon and bend the knee to him, forsaking your crown for a stranger? For a man who usurps his nephews? A man who murdered his brother? Is that what an honorable man does to gain support for his cause? Will your lords feel comfortable with that? If Stannis sits on the Iron Throne with or without your support, House Lannister dies out. Your sister will be executed right next to me.”

“Joffrey and Tommen are born of ince-”

“Lies!” snarled Tywin ferociously, clenching his jaw tightly, his eyes flashing. 

“Will you go home and bury your head in the snow?” he continued quickly. He was not going to sit there and listen to those fabrications. How in the seven hells such nonsense could even be seriously considered by people as possible? It was beyond him. Jaime and Cersei were twins, for gods’ sake! Whatever their faults, he had raised them better than that.

“What home? Winterfell is in ruins, the North exhausted. You have no funds to rebuild it. And how will you get there? How will you march your men through the Neck? Or will you sail them around? Using whose ships? Asking the Ironborn to let you pass, pretty please?”

Now Robb Stark was turning red as well. Tywin met his eyes coldly, lowering his hand.

“Will you continue to plunder and burn the home of your sister’s husband while the forces of the Westerlands are caught elsewhere? If you do, you’ll better continue and try to claim the Iron Throne because you’ll leave yourself no choice. Your continued presence in the South without declaring for one of the contestants sends signals throughout the realm that you want the Iron Throne, that you are willing to fight for it. Either Stannis or I will meet you in battle eventually. You better pray it is the Stag and not the Lion because I have no desire to slay my good-brother.”

“You invaded the Riverlands!” hissed Lady Stark, voice shaking. “Now you try to make yourself look like the injured party here while you started it-”

“I started it? You had my son.” Tywin snapped the straw in half and let it fall from his hands, meeting the eyes of each of the Stark. “What did you expect me to do? Let you have him? No. I value my family above everything. For once in your lives, _think_.”

That was another slap in their faces and the three Starks fumed in silence. Meanwhile, Tywin looked around ostentatiously. There was a circle of weirwood stumps at the very top of the hill. He started counting them as he waited for the Northerners to speak. If they thought to deny him his soul, they were mistaken. If they thought that Lady Sansa would side with them, they were foolish. If they thought that they had any other alternative but to accept his offer of alliance and friendship, they were better of buried in the northern snows where they could not do much damage.

Arya knew that. She had enough understanding of the situation to come to him, to let him handle the mess. He was beginning to wonder if the little wolf was truly the only one in the whole family that realized the truth of the matter, even though he doubted the girl had had all the facts when she had confessed her name to him.

There was a lot of work to do, lots of ruffled feathers to smooth, but Tywin hadn’t ruled the kingdoms for twenty years without learning a thing or two. Once he was back in King’s Landing, this madness was over.

“But Joffrey had my father killed,” whispered Arya suddenly. The scared, trembling voice forced Tywin to look at her and he was taken aback by the vulnerability he saw in the child’s face. She was looking up at him and her eyes were glistening with tears and so big and that he doubted they could fit in her little head.

“I watched from the crowd. He promised him mercy and then asked for his head. Sansa was at the dais, right next to it. She saw everything. People were shouting _so_ loudly… but I still heard her screams. I can still hear them at night.”

Tywin felt his insides turning to ice. He remembered the feeling of cold dread that had assaulted him roughly a year ago when it all had been just beginning. It had felt like his heart had shattered in his chest and his soul – Lady Sansa – had been in such terrible pain that he had almost blacked out in the middle of his meeting with the war council. It had been the only instance when he hadn’t known exactly what had been happening to her, when it had not been a physical pain his soul had suffered. She had screamed herself hoarse, her throat aching for days. That Tywin had felt. She had broken the skin on her palms with her fingernails as she had clenched her fists tightly. That he had felt, too.

Now he realized that he had felt her heart breaking, his soul’s agony that accompanied Lord Eddard Stark’s death.

“Oh, Arya!” Lady Stark surged forward, grasping her daughter in a tight embrace while Robb Stark, eyes red, glared at him.

“You see, Lord Lannister?” he asked. “You see why I’ll never bend the knee for Joffrey? That’s what your family did to ours. How can you stand here, look us in the eye and demand my sister’s hand after everything that has happened?”

Looking into those hurt and angry eyes – which were quite similar to Sansa’s if Tywin was to believe Arya’s words – the Lord of Casterly Rock had to face an agonizing possibility. Even his soul had its limit, her capacity for forgiveness was enormous but not boundless. Joanna had-

Tywin stopped that thought before it could form. He didn’t know his soul in her new life and she didn’t know him, didn’t grow to love him yet. What if… what if the strain was too great this time? What if, just once, he had come too late to claim the mate of his soul and she wouldn’t forgive him for not finding her sooner, for not stopping this madness before it had wrecked her family. She loved so fiercely, so fully. Always.

Had Tywin grown too sure of himself and their bond? Their ability to always overcome every hurdle on their journey through life and death alike? Was this the first life when his soul would look at him and say  _ No, I cannot love you this time?  _

Suppressing the need to place his hand against his breastplate, Tywin averted his eyes from Lord Stark. Thirty-one. That’s how many stumps there were at the top of the High Heart, dead and pale in the afternoon light, never to grow again, never to bloom again, not in this life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Tywin Lannister’s mark is done in ivory and gold and rubies and emeralds – not ordinary boring colors! How dare you think otherwise? Anyway, I just realized that there’s still no Sansa… but… Arya and Ty teaming up to tease the Starks was something I enjoyed writing *laughs hysterically*
> 
> Some of you probably noticed that I’m using the concept of reincarnation here just like in ‘Colors’ because Tywin’s love for Joanna is such an integral part of his character that I simply can’t imagine not including it in my stories *sighs dreamily*
> 
> Poor Tywin, it had to be the wolves to open his eyes? That’s a pretty bitter pill to swallow. Also, something tells me a certain lion is not going to be happy once he realizes that Joff not only took Ned’s head but also ordered Sansa’s beatings *grins evilly*
> 
> Next time: Sansa’s enlightening wait for her soul to finally arrive.  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a little bird is actually a wolf... and not at all a little one.

_King’s Landing, Throne Room_

There was nowhere to run. Sansa was her own sworn shield and sword, her courtesies her only protection and her ability to fool others her only weapon. It was so tiring. She was exhausted from the constant vigilance, from always checking her expressions, filtering her words. But such was the price for her idiocy.

When Father had told her that Joffrey couldn’t possibly be her soulmate, she had been so stupid, and angry.

_ Of course that the prince must be the one _ , she had cried. He was golden and his eyes were green. Joffrey matched her mark so wonderfully, fitted her dreams like no one else. She had been _so_ sure that he shared her soul. But Sansa had learned how wrong she had been.

Joffrey had not shared her pain, any of it, and that should have been the first indicator that she had been wrong. Soulmarks were a private thing and bringing them up in a conversation was considered very rude – something that only perhaps Arya would do. Only the family knew if there was one, and what it looked like. It wasn’t something people talked about openly because it wasn’t _needed_. She had read stories since coming to the capital – true accounts – about how only a single glance was needed between soulmates to realize the bond. They just knew and Sansa understood how stupid she had been to love her golden-haired prince.

It was sometimes so hard to remember why she was going through it all. Still, Sansa persevered. What other choice she had? Now, she survived on the foolish hope that her _true_ soulmate would find her and put a stop to all the hurt. She lived for him because she couldn’t bear the thought of causing him any pain with her demise.

It was so hard to remember that there was someone out there who would love her unconditionally, though, when day after day passed her by. When she caught a glimpse of gold and a flash of white and knew that the Kingsguards were coming. Sometimes, she had disappeared inside her head, where she was safe and could pretend that none of it was happening.

It wasn’t her body they were hurting, not her blood that was spilled. It wasn’t Sansa who suffered. Inside her head, it was safe to dream of him, the man with a matching mark over his heart. She imagined him as a mighty knight who fought in the war. That was the reason why he could not ride to her side. He was one of Robb’s men, surely.

But even as she dreamed those silly dreams, Sansa knew that she was wrong. Her soulmate wasn’t of the North. There weren’t many knights there in the first place and she couldn’t imagine that a Northman wouldn’t have claimed her long ago. He wouldn’t have allowed her to come south. He wouldn’t have allowed her suffering to continue.

Sansa’s life wasn’t a song, she didn’t believe in them any longer, but she refused to believe that her soul would simply let her suffer without any explanation, without searching for her at all.

_ There must be a reason _ , she would comfort herself. _One day, our paths will cross_ , she was sure of it.

Sansa blinked and focused on her surroundings. The court was abuzz with news from the Riverlands and she carefully kept her head down, pretending to be the meek little girl as usual. There was nothing wrong with her head, or her ears, and soon she caught snatches of conversation.

“-negotiations bore fruit, I hear!”

“-the northern war’s over-”

“-welcome the Starks to the court-”

_ They were coming? _ Sansa bit her lip and kept herself very still. Her heart was beating too loudly in her chest. For the first time in two years, she heard her family name uttered how it was always supposed to sound – like it mattered. Taking a long, shuddering breath, she blinked again and kept her gaze trained at the stone floor.

Soon, the king rose from the throne and all attention focused on him. Sansa looked up with all the resolve she could muster, and listened carefully.

“My people!” Joffrey looked like he had been forced to swallow a spoonful of horse shit. “I received the most marvelous news. The war with the rebelling northern houses is over! We soon shall have peace!”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then the courtiers duteously erupted in cheers. Sansa observed warily the king and his mother and noticed that neither of them looked in any way cheered by the news. It was true – only the imminent presence of wolves would displease the lions so much. 

_ Robb’s coming!  _ A tiny spark of hope took residence in her chest. Sansa swallowed and allowed a small smile to lift the corner of her lips, demurely staring down.

The courtiers were also suddenly noticing her standing right there in their midst. In a dress that was too small for a girl of her height, with bruises fading from her cheeks, cuts that were slowly scarring her back, Lady Sansa lifted her head and looked straight ahead.

Joffrey was fuming when their gazes met and Sansa’s smile grew slightly. Enraged by such a display of mocking – in his mind, because the rest of the court saw only a stupid little girl smiling idiotically, didn’t they? – he descended the steps. 

“That’s wonderful, Your Grace.” Sansa dropped into a deep curtsey just as Joffrey managed to reach her. “Does that mean my brother is coming to King’s Landing to treat with you himself?”

Her words froze him. Joffrey swayed on the spot as he tried to stop his momentum, grimacing. His wormy lips resembled a thin line as he stared at her and then gathered his composure, nodded briskly, and snarled, “Indeed, my lady.”

“He shall surely be excited to _see_ you again under much more pleasurable circumstances,” she offered politely. “What wonderful news, indeed.”

He bared his teeth at her more in another snarl than a smile but soon the queen was tugging at Joffrey’s arm and then they were leaving. The king would not bring Sansa her brother’s head but there was still hope that Robb could bring her Joffrey’s.

_ Wonderful news.  _ Sansa continued to stand there for a few moments, smiling blithely at all present, head held high and shoulders straight as she could feel her life turning around, shifting. The mark on her breast felt warm, tingling, and she pretended for a moment that her soulmate was indeed riding with Robb to bring her back home.

But it didn’t matter. She did not need a knight to shield her. She had been able to survive on her own when she had been a traitor’s daughter, a traitor’s sister. She could do it now as well when Sansa was back to being the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn and a sister to the Lord of Winterfell. Her soul would find her in the North eventually, or maybe Sansa’d grow bold enough to find _him_.

She giggled to herself. Yes, that thought did have merit, didn’t it? She was a lady… but even Lady – the gentles creature in all the lands – had been a wolf and so was Sansa.

“Lady Sansa!” called a soft voice to her left, giving her goosebumps. She turned slowly, her eyes resting on the smiling face of Lord Baelish.

“My lord,” she said meekly and offered him a curtsey. She had never felt quite comfortable in the man’s company. People around them were slowly dispersing now that the king had ended the audience but they weren’t leaving her completely alone with Baelish. Sansa felt perhaps a little bolder than usual and added, “I hope your journeys were pleasant.”

“Oh, yes.” Lord Baelish grinned wider and nodded. “The weather was most agreeable.”

Carefully observing the self-satisfied glint in his eyes, Sansa didn’t doubt that more than the weather had been most agreeable. Sansa had learned from the very man standing in front of her that everyone in King’s Landing was a liar. If he had a reason to be so pleased about something, it was a cause for concern for his adversaries. Who those were? That was hard to tell.

“The roads didn’t give you any trouble?” she asked politely, unsure why he had approached her. Baelish seemed to be on good terms with Queen Cersei, but before that, he had seemed to be a friend to Father. Perhaps he had decided to be a good friend to her, now. She wondered briefly if he had his hand in the negotiations with Robb.

“Oh, well, there’s much more dust on the roads further south, though… Pray tell, my lady, have you got a word from your family about this happy development?”

So, he was fishing for information because he had been involved in something further south. She had nothing to give him. “Unfortunately, no.”

Before the man could open his mouth to say more, no doubt something clever, Sansa offered him her most heartfelt apologies, a deep curtsey, and quickly departed. Had he even been her Mother’s friend? Sansa doubted that, too. She had the feeling that Lord Baelish was loyal only to himself and served others when it was safe or beneficial to do so. She certainly did not want to be connected to him in _any_ way.

_King’s Landing, Maegor’s Holdfast_

The news of truce with the North reached Stannis Baratheon as well and hastened his plans to take the capital while it remained defended by only a small garrison. Lord Tyrion had done his best to organize the defenses but people worried. Those who could, fled. Those who couldn’t, prayed.

Sansa was with the other ladies for most of the terrible night but then her soulmark flared to life. She clutched at it and blinked back tears, realizing that her soul must be injured. When she felt that sharp, burning ache in her left shoulder, she quickly ran back toward her chamber to be alone with their pain.

She wasn’t an expert on injures men received in battles but she knew perfectly well that her soulmate had just dislocated his shoulder. The realization stopped her mad dash through the corridors and Sansa had to steady herself against the wall.

_ Gods. _ Her soulmate was fighting in the battle! The realization forced all air from her lungs and she slid down to the ground, eyes filling with tears. She already knew that he wasn’t one of the men present in King’s Landing, so that must mean that he was one of the attackers!

All her previous joy at being soon reunited with her family evaporated. The sounds of clashing steel and screams faded into the background, her mind filling with despair. What good would it do if her soulmate was fighting for the king Robb hadn’t chosen to support?

Sansa shook her head, wiping her tears away. Battles were terrible affairs and he was already injured. She should be concerned by the fact that he might not survive for her to worry about which side he was on.

A part of her was relieved that she had been right – if her soulmate was a knight in the service of Stannis Baratheon, he had hardly been able to retrieve her from the capital. He probably didn’t even know where Sansa was, how small a distance separated them right now.

He didn’t know her name or her face and was in no position to link her pain to the abuse she had suffered. The truth of her beatings was not a piece of common knowledge. Joffrey liked to see her humiliated in front of people but he always sent the Kingsguards after her for his private amusements once Lord Tyrion had made his displeasure known.

It took Sansa several moments to gather her strength as the sounds of battle filled her ears once more. She should not lose heart. There was a battle going on and she should not linger in unprotected corridors of the keep. With resolve, she rose back to her feet and took a few quick steps into the direction of her chamber.

Only to be grabbed from behind by rough hands.

“What do we have here?” someone whispered into her ear in a distinct Flea Bottom accent. Sansa’s mind flashed back to _that_ awful day and she suppressed a whimper. Never again, she had promised herself.

“Let go!” she screamed. Struggling against her attacker, Sansa tried to free herself. The Hound was somewhere out there defending the city. She had to be her savior once more. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her middle, wandering hands kneading and squeezing painfully, leaving marks in their wake.

Using the man’s torso for support, she raised her foot and stamped on his instep. He howled and his grip slackened. Sansa smacked away his arms and darted away from him.

“You little bitch!” the man yelled and she heard him run after her.

Sansa had to grab her skirt so it wouldn’t get in her way as her heart pumped furiously. The experience was too similar to the one she had already lived through. She didn’t care how the man had gotten inside the main keep – the city was in utter chaos. Perhaps he thought to steal something while all guards were elsewhere. She did not bloody care. Sansa knew only one thing. He would not touch her. He would not rape. None of the men fighting would, no matter what Cersei had said. Sansa wouldn’t let them. She’d rather die.

The door to her chamber was so close Sansa could sob with relief. She had to slow down as to not crash into them. Then she fiddled with the lock for a few precious moments. Checking over her shoulder, the man was closing in on her.

Sansa opened the door, heart pounding loudly in her ears, slipped inside, and went to slam the door close again.

It exploded into her face, knocking her to the ground.

“Oh, there’s a bed! That’s nice!” The man was upon her in a second, covering her body with his. He smelled of ale, sweat, and horse shit. He grabbed the front of her dress, tearing at the fabric. Sansa kicked and screamed and clawed at his face, drawing blood. With a howl, he slapped her and wrapped his hands around her throat.

Her mark flared to life painfully at that exact moment. Sansa almost blacked out – from the intense feeling or the lack of air, she wasn’t sure. Then burning rage flooded her – ferocity that was not entirely her own – and she let out a snarl worthy of any wolf roaming the northern wilderness.

Raising her hands to the man’s face once more, Sansa clawed at his eyes. Her claws were long, they were sharp. She closed her eyes and pushed, grimacing in disgust. The man howled and howled and then he released her, cursing and stumbling back.

“You whore! You fucking whore!” He lurched forward, blindly reaching for her, but Sansa rolled out of his way, gasping for breath, feeling slightly sick by the mess she had made of his face. Her eyes darted around and then she spotted it – the candlestick.

That fury still burnt inside of her, a roaring sound filling her ears. Dashing around the man’s grasping hands, she lifted the candlestick and hit him over the head.

He crumbled to the ground in a heap. The silence in her chamber was thick and heavy and Sansa’s vision was still tinted in red. One hit was hardly enough. Something urged her to raise the candlestick again, to make sure. She did, slamming it into the man’s face with as much force as she was able.

When she raised it again, the face did no longer resemble a face. The improvised weapon slipped from her hands. Sansa stared at the body, shoulders heaving. The presence at the back of her mind was still prowling, angry, mad with worry. As she forced large gulps of air through her throat, as her heartbeat calmed, so did her enraged companion. A foreign sense of vicious satisfaction flooded her briefly and then – the gentlest, most reverent feeling of delight caressed her mind.

It was tender and sweet – and it was gone in a blink. The mark grew cold.

Sansa’s knees felt weak but she stumbled to the open door and closed them, locked them, leaned against them with her back. Breathing still quickened, she slid down and pressed her bloodied palms to her eyes, forcing the tears back.

Sansa would not cry. She was a wolf, she was a survivor. She would never have to face any danger alone. Her soul was coming to claim her and nothing would stand in his way. No walls, no swords, and definitely no kings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa at last! She always was this sweet little girl – until she wasn’t. Oh, well. People who underestimated our girl ended up dead while she ended up a queen. That’s saying something *grins* Anyway, I hope I didn’t gross you out with that scene. I love showing Sansa’s claws *winks*
> 
> There’s no Sandor, however. Let’s say that he tried to drop by, found the door locked, surmised that Sansa’s still with Cersei, and went on his way because he wasn’t dumb and noticed that the city just got defended by a large Lannister host… no need to dawdle and explain to irritable cats why he’s running from a fight.
> 
> Hmm, I wonder if Tywin has a reason to be concerned about his soul’s reception. He did take his time and he is related to the monster whose head Sansa’d like to have *winks* Then again, I promised you fluff and I’m yet to deliver that… so… *whistles happily*  
> Next time: Sansa and Tywin finally meet.
> 
> Be safe, love Mage :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain wolf lady meets her lion.

_King’s Landing, Maegor’s Holdfast_

“Lady Sansa!” demanded a deep, growling voice that sent shivers down Sansa’s spine and lit her blood on fire at the same time. There was a hint of concern hidden behind the commanding tone and she felt a delighted thrill run through the mark.

“Can you hear me? Sansa, the door!” Another heavy thump resonated through the room. 

She must have fallen asleep, she blinked. Then the realization hit and Sansa felt her face stretch painfully into a wide toothy smile and closed her eyes even as she was carefully rising to her feet.

_ Finally, he’s here. _

“Yes,” she called weakly, her throat swollen and voice hoarse, yet she could not stop smiling. She felt his nearness, her body sung with his presence, and only a wooden door separated them. The wreath of ivy over her heart was pulsing with life.

The pounding stopped. She unlocked the door and had enough foresight to step quickly back as it flew open. Blinking, Sansa suddenly felt the smile slide from her face.

The doorway was filled with a man. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. He was also wearing the red steel armor of the Lannisters, but his was much more finely made. The pauldrons were shaped like lion heads, the breastplate adorned with gold. A helmet obscured his face and it was decorated with a roaring lion with ruby eyes. There was a bright, blood-soaked sash going from his shoulder to his waist and his sword had a pommel made of gold.

He was no ordinary knight in the service of the Lannisters, he was a lion himself. Sansa tried to remember the names of other Lannisters that could stand before her but her mind was blank. As soon as she looked into his eyes that were so intensely staring at her, the world just _stopped_.

It stopped spinning, it stopped existing. There was nothing but the green of his eyes and those specks of gold in them. That was the true reflection of her mark, she realized as she forced a long, stuttering breath out of her lungs.

He was not an ordinary lion either. Her soul was the Lion. The Great Lion, father to Cersei, grandfather to Joffrey. He shared the blood and name of her tormentors. Their viciousness, their disregard for others, their ruthlessness certainly had to come from somewhere.

_ No. _ Sansa’s body trembled and her knees felt weak. She felt like she could not breathe as she backed away from him. Her heart was going to give up.  _ No, not Tywin Lannister. _

Slowly, he raised his right hand and removed the helmet, revealing a face lined with worry, golden hair and beard streaked with silver. His lips formed a thin, unsmiling line as she continued to stumble from him and he followed her into the room with precise, restrained movements.

Her back hit the wall. Sansa noticed for the first time that his left arm hung uselessly at his side when he placed the helmet at the table. Taking long, measured steps, he halted in front of her and used his teeth to pull off his heavy glove, letting it fall to the ground between them.

“Sansa,” he said and offered her his hand, palm up. The tone was unassuming, the single word and single gesture so very simple.

His hand was large, fingers long and strong. She stared at it for a long moment before raising her head to meet his gaze. Lord Lannister’s face had smoothed into a carefully crafted mask of stone. He looked as if he didn’t feel it, the pounding in their ears, the mad, painful beating of their hearts, the burning of their marks. She could almost believe that the world – her world, _their_ world – wasn’t hanging by a thread.

But his eyes! Oh, gods, _his eyes_. Something in her trembled in agony at what she saw there. He ached for her. The fear of rejecting was so clear that Sansa could choke on it. The hope that she would accept him – as he was – was so heartbreaking that she felt so ashamed for her momentary doubt. The love… The love was endless and eternal and more real than any dream and any song. 

Looking into his eyes, Sansa knew him. She had always known him throughout all those years she could remember and throughout an endless number of ages already past. There was no doubt about it, nothing to guess, nothing to be afraid of. He was her soul and she was his. It truly was that simple.

She ignored his outstretched hand and instead reached for him, her hands trembling, as she cradled his cheeks between her palms. “Yes?”

Lord Lannister didn’t seem to mind the dried blood on her hands. He swallowed and moved closer, pressing his forehead against hers. Their eyes closing, he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, holding her close with a gentle touch. And the world? It released its breath and started to turn again. Everything settled into its proper place and their heartbeats calmed, their breathing slowed. The marks stopped burning and grew cold, their bond settled. He dwelt within her now, and she lived inside him. All was well. All was how it was supposed to be. 

“Please, forgive me. I should have come here sooner,” he said, his voice low and urgent. He dug his fingers into her back, pressing her closer. Sansa returned the embrace carefully, her arms going around his middle and under his injured arm.

“You are here now.” It wouldn’t do, no. Her lion was not one built for regrets and should have beens. It never suited him. Lord Lannister hadn’t asked for her father’s head – he was a much better politician than that. He had not encouraged Joffrey’s cruelties for they were beneath a man like him. He hadn’t been the one raising his hand against her. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“But not in time, and for that I am sorry.” Tywin’s jaw was tightly clenched. He leaned away, raised his arm and his fingers traced the bruise on her cheek, skimmed so very lightly on the marks on her neck. She felt the spike of anger at the state of her face, his rage blazing through them both.

“You were here when I needed you the most.” Sansa clasped his hand gently and kissed it, delighting in the flare of entirely different emotions that flitted through his eyes at the touch. They both looked toward the dead body – Sansa with a hint of revulsion, Tywin with satisfaction. He had suggested the actions but it had been Sansa who had done it, who had killed the rapist.

“A gardener?” Tywin snorted. “I’ll have the whole keep re-staffed.”

Sansa wasn’t entirely sure that the man had been a gardener or if he had only used the clothes to slip inside the keep. She didn’t care, though, and recaptured her soul’s attention by rising on her tiptoes and bringing her face closer to his.

Tywin leaned down as well, their lips meeting briefly in a featherlike touch. A sigh escaped her and Sansa closed her eyes. Her heart felt like bursting with happiness. Joffrey’s kiss had been all wrong, but this? This was exactly what she had dreamed about. Tywin then pressed his lips to hers once more, the kiss more certain, more demanding. This time, Sansa couldn’t stop herself from smiling and her soul used her distraction to deepen the kiss. Swallowing her surprised gasp, he offered a content humming sound in return.

It reminded her of a purr and that thought made Sansa smile more. However, she had to end the kiss when the lack of air became unbearable. Sansa looked up at her soulmate, grinning and giggling like a fool. She felt blissfully happy when she heard a chuckle and saw Tywin’s brief smile.

Sounds were piercing their little world of contentment, and their privacy was soon disturbed. Sansa registered some shouting, and then Tywin was relinquishing his hold on her, his shoulder jarred with the quick movement, as another pair of strong arms wrapped around her gently.

“Sansa! Gods, my sweet sister, what have they done to you?” Robb snarled, taller than she had remembered him, harder, but so very much present and whole and uninjured that she fell against him gratefully and clung to his armor without the hesitancy she had displayed with her soul.

Her brother and her soul saw the fading bruising on her arms, her other cheek. All the injuries just barely healed marking the rest of her body were thankfully hidden from Robb’s furious eyes, but there was no hiding them from her soul’s knowledge now that their bond was reestablished.

Sansa’s eyes closed briefly and then strayed to Tywin who offered her a slight upturn of his lips before his expression grew ferocious. Gingerly touching his neck as he felt her soreness, he cleared his throat and rumbled, “Why don’t we find out, Lord Stark?”

Oh, Tywin was brimming with rage and for once, Sansa wasn’t sure if the gleeful wave of anticipation of violence came from him or her. She could never ask him to bring her Joffrey’s head, Sansa couldn’t bear the thought of causing Tywin that sort of pain, presenting him with such a dilemma… But her soul would show Joffrey how a true lion roared, she’s going to see to that.

_King’s Landing, Maidenvault_

There was much to do after the battle had been won. Robb and Lord Lannister left Sansa to her rest after a maester had looked at both of them. The city needed to be secured, the fallen collected, the injured tended to, the camps pitched. Half of those tasks Robb shared with his soon-to-be good-brother, thank the gods.

His dreams, when the Young Wolf got finally to bed, were plagued by heartbreaking visions of what had Sansa told him and Lord Lannister about her stay in the capital.

Robb was surprised that she could stomach talking about her experiences at all but he was fiercely proud to call her his sister. Gods, what she had endured! What she had survived on her own!

The morning dawned much too soon for his like but Robb forced his tired body to move. After four days and nights in the saddle and a battle on top of it, he felt dead on his feet. He slowly woke up, got dressed, and went to check on his sister. The Lord Hand had given them guest chambers that were large, comfortable, and luxurious by the Starks’ standards. Sansa would have loved them once upon a time yet his sister had seemed to be untouched by such sights.

Robb hated what had been done to her. The sight of her bruises made his blood boil – but it was the guarded look in her eyes and the way she seemed to be always weighing her words that made him want to weep. His sweet naive sister was gone and in her stead, he saw a maiden of steel forged in pain and quenched in hate. He was both proud of her, oh yes, but mournful of the loss of Sansa’s innocence.

Grey Wind was dutifully guarding the entrance to Sansa’s chamber and gave him a half-hearted wag of his tail as Robb side-stepped him. Sansa was still sleeping and in the morning light, the injuries she had received last night looked more serious than they had previously. He clenched his fists and shook his head. No, his sister was not the sweet girl he remembered. She was a wolf and that knowledge had perhaps finally settled his doubts.

The woman who had scratched a man’s eyes out with her fingernails and then smashed his face with a candlestick, who had survived routine abuse at the hands of knights she had adored as a child, would be able to hold his own against a man like Tywin Lannister.

Robb had been afraid that marriage to such a cold-hearted, ruthless man could break his poor sister but he wasn’t anymore. Not after seeing them together last night, both bloodied from their battles and still capable of such gentleness…

He shook his head again. That settled the debate whether or not his future good-brother had a heart or not. Sansa was Lord Tywin’s heart, that much was obvious from a single glance at the pair.

“Robb?” Sansa’s voice was quiet. She didn’t stir, he hadn’t noticed she had woken. She shifted, sitting up and covering her shoulders with the quilt. He had still caught glimpses of fading bruises.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, coughed a little, and reached to take a sip of water. Her throat would heal, as would the rest of the body eventually.

“I was wondering if you were up, and wanted to have breakfast with me and Lord Tywin?” he asked, forcing a smile on his face. He wouldn’t ask how she was – that was quite obvious – and she hadn’t appreciated his fussing last night. “I’m meeting him shortly and something tells me he wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you before…”

They were to meet with the king and his mother after breakfast. Robb couldn’t wait and that thought alone lent him strength. He would get his justice – perhaps not Joffrey’s head, but they all had to make compromises. It wasn’t for the sake of the realm, though. It was for the sake of their family. No matter how Robb didn’t fancy the idea of being connected to the Lannisters in such a way, Lord Tywin was his good-brother now.

Sansa’s face stretched into a smile that surely hurt but she didn’t seem to mind. The mere mention of Lord Lannister’s name was enough. “Of course, Robb. That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

Robb nodded and glanced away from her knowing gaze. She wasn’t thanking him for the breakfast. Sansa was thanking him for the thought behind his gesture, for his acceptance. But he didn’t have any other choice, did he? He was the King who had lost the North, who had allowed his brothers to be murdered by their childhood friend. He was the one who had allowed his sisters to suffer. Accepting Lord Tywin as his good-brother, the will of the gods, was the first right decision he had made since winning at Whispering Woods no matter what Mother thought of it.

He allowed Sansa to get dressed in peace and then escorted her into the gardens near the Hand’s Tower, Grey Wind lazily linking after them and scarring servants gleefully. As soon as she caught a glimpse of Lord Tywin, Sansa flew toward him, abandoning Robb.

He watched as Lord Lannister rose and met her halfway, offering her what was a very proper courtly bow with a serious expression. Sansa dropped into a deep curtsey and then accepted his good arm as her soulmate escorted her to the table. His sister seemed to be concerned whether or not Lord Tywin’s sling was comfortable while he frowned and fussed gruffly over her sore throat.

“Am I even visible?” Robb muttered as he followed. His heart, though, felt lighter again by the display. How many people had seen this side to the Lion of Lannister? Or to his sister, for that matter? Sansa had been more inclined to kick him or Jon into their shins if they annoyed her too much. Now? She bore her soulmate’s attention with a pretty blush.

“Of course you are, Lord Stark.” Lord Tywin said dryly. “Good morning.”

“I’m just making sure.” Robb shrugged and sat down. “Good morning to you, too.”

The breakfast proved to be an enlightening experience for Robb. Watching the sun slowly rise above the Blackwater Bay surrounded by exotic greenery was a novelty. He had never thought to live through a scene from Sansa’s song, yet here Robb was; sampling sweet summer fruit, watching the ocean in the rising southern heat and sitting in the company of two soulmates.

They didn’t need words half of the time and seemed to be connected on a level Robb would never understand.

Robb observed his sister closely, eager to see what kind of person she had become. He was mollified with discovering that she still liked the same foods and still could smile the same way as before – his sister was still there, the echo of the girl she had been in each move and each word of the woman she had become. Watching how Lord Lannister was with Sansa was also quite informative. Robb had known him to be a cold, unsmiling man but there was something softer and warmer in his expression and his voice whenever he addressed or looked at Sansa.

Lord Tywin discussed the matters of the city and their troops with Robb and stressed the importance of letting him handle most of the talk with the king in his usual biting tone but to Sansa, Lord Lannister was always gentle.

Tilting his head back and closing his eyes under the warm sun, Robb wondered then if Sansa’s lord husband would allow her visits to Winterfell once it was rebuilt. Robb hoped that he would. The idea of having both his sisters at home with him was pleasant. It had been nothing but a dream a moon’s turn ago, after all, and Lord Stark couldn’t fight the smile that spread over his face as he thought about home and family. Not whole, never that, but healing and growing again in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s always the gardener! *winks* So, the two of them finally met and I’m sure Tywin was rather impressed with his fearless little wolf. Also, I realized that I didn’t specify in the story how Ty managed to get injured but it’s not really important anyway. I like the idea that our lion was a little distracted in the battle and got himself knocked off his horse thinking about Sansa *giggles* You are free to imagine him in a fierce fight instead, of course *winks*
> 
> The only downside of it is, he can’t use that arm too much. He would deny it, I’m sure, but Tywin definitely enjoys Sansa’s fussing. She probably kisses it better when Robb’s not looking *grins* So…It's actually is a win-win.
> 
> Next time: Tywin deals with his family.  
> Love, Mage :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear me roar.

_King’s Landing, Small Council Chambers_

Tywin was careful not to show his emotions as he observed the king and queen regent saunter into the room. His good hand fisted and his jaw clenched, but otherwise, nothing gave away the murderous rage that had been simmering within him for the last several hours. He had not slept, only resting in his bed and staring intently into the darkness.

The Lion of Lannister had eradicated two noble houses for taking and keeping his money and making his family a laughing stock. He had started a war for a son he disliked. What should he do to those who had dared to touch his soul? Cause her pain? Scar her body?

He had taken the heads of most of the Kingsguard shortly before meeting his soulmate for breakfast. That had helped to calm him, but only a little. Sansa would have liked Joffrey’s head as well, he knew, and that thought was _not_ helping to calm him any further. Tywin would have liked to run that little shit through under any other circumstances as well. But blood was thicker than water. Cersei was his _daughter_ , Joffrey his _grandson_ , and no Lannister was ever going to be named a kinslayer.

That left Tywin in quite a predicament.

It was too early for them, he supposed. Cersei looked like she had not been able to sleep either. The queen regent had a good reason to fear the Northmen who now patrolled the city for all that she had done to the Starks. But his grandson should be afraid more, much more.

Joffrey, however, seemed unconcerned. He looked like a spoilt little boy as his gaze distractedly roved around the room – a sharp contrast to the other young man sitting calmly at the table.

“Good morning.” Robb Stark rose to his feet as Cersei and Joffrey approached. His face was stone and the greeting was slightly stilted – and he did not offer a bow – but otherwise, Lord Stark presented himself as a young lord ought to.

“What is he doing here?” demanded Joffrey, his face twisting into a snarl. He ignored the greeting or any resemblance of manners as he continued, “I thought this was a family meeting! Where are the guards? Guards! Guards! Escort him away!”

Joffrey’s two remaining Kingsguards tried to force their way into the room but were blocked by a wall of red steel.

“This _is_ a family meeting.” Lord Lannister glanced to the ceiling briefly, wondering if his grandson truly could be so thick. He had hoped that his letter to treat the Starks as valuable allies together with this meeting was enough to offer them some insight.

“And Lord Stark is here at my request,” Tywin continued and waved the men away, readjusting the sling on his left arm. It was not uncomfortable – no matter what his soul thought about that – it just got in his way more often than he would have liked.

His loyal guards nodded and closed the door behind them, locking the two burly Kingsguards out of the chamber.

“He has helped to save the city last night and without his aid, Stannis Baratheon would be still alive and posing threat to the family. You shall address him with the respect he deserves as someone of a close connection to us.” Tywin refocused his attention on his grandson, his face turning stony as well. “Sit. Your Grace.”

“Come, let us sit, darling.” Cersei quickly caught Joffrey’s arm and managed to make the boy sit, taking her place next to him. She nodded at Robb coldly, “Lord Stark.”

The Young Wolf simply stared at them, his jaw clenched, before taking his previous position at the table. He caught Tywin’s gaze briefly, and it was apparent that Lord Stark was not pleased. He was most likely going to spend the whole meeting biting his tongue.

Lord Lannister had to say that he was impressed with his future good-brother. He wasn’t a great politician but Robb knew when to shut up and listen, and was capable of following instructions much better than Tywin’s children ever would. He was a dutiful lad, too dependent on his mother’s advice in Tywin’s opinion, but he would be a competent administrator given enough room to grow. Eddard Stark had taught him reasonably well.

For several seconds, silence reigned in the chamber. Cersei sipped at her drink – wine, although watered down considerably for it was too early to drink – and Joffrey played with his goblet. Tywin clenched and unclenched his hand under the table and out of sight, watching the two grow nervous under his gaze, still not making the obvious connection.

The Lion of Lannister felt every bruise on Sansa’s body, now. _Constantly_. The injuries she had suffered last night were fresh and hurt accordingly but there were dozens of older bruises, cuts and kicks, and little pains. There were scars on Sansa’s back that would never fade, for gods’ sake. Just the thought alone sent Tywin’s mind back on the murderous path he had been contemplating.

He had almost gone and killed the king as soon as Sansa had been done with her gruesome tale. Robb had certainly wanted to join him, but to their great surprise, Lady Sansa had stopped them with pretty words and imploring looks. No more bloodshed, she had asked of them, no more suffering and pain.

It would have looked like a manipulation if Tywin hadn’t been able to feel Sansa’s intentions. She wanted Joffrey to suffer and she wanted Tywin to avenge her but she did not want Tywin to suffer at all and wished to spare him the pain of losing a member of his family. She didn’t want him to feel the same agony she had felt when her siblings and father had been killed.

There was something different about his soul this time, he felt it. Perhaps it was her wolf blood or perhaps the treatment she had endured, but Sansa was sharper than Tywin had ever expected his soul to be.

It was _exhilarating_. From the two of them, he had always been the realistic one. He was the sword and his soulmate the shield. Now, though, they were becoming equals in this regard – both capable of the same actions if necessary. Under any circumstances, Tywin would gladly deliver what his soul wanted. But how could he now?

Tywin was going to stick to the original plan he had devised with Lord Stark, then. 

Joffrey was losing what little patience he had. He drummed his fingers against the desk and then asked, “So, when is he going to bend the knee, then?”

It was a reasonable conclusion, Tywin supposed, but he heaved a sigh nonetheless. Speaking without thinking things through or having all the facts was not a mark of a good monarch.

“Soon,” spoke Robb and glared at Joffrey. Then he grinned and it was a wolf’s smile – sharp and full of teeth. “As soon as my conditions are met.”

“Traitors don’t have any right to demand-” Joffrey started to say but was interrupted.

“Lord Stark has already fulfilled his duty to defend the realm against threats!” barked Tywin harshly. “Seeing that he has done that, it’s time for the Crown to honor the agreement as well…”

“What agreement? What are those… conditions?” asked Cersei sharply, her eyes flitting from Tywin to Lord Stark. Robb turned to smile tightly at her. Tywin wondered where was that beast of his, probably keeping company to Sansa and offering her the protection only a giant wolf could.

Cersei’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she was beginning to understand. She was clever, he had always known that. The problem with Cersei was that she was not as clever as she believed, and she coveted power but had no idea what to do with once she had obtained it. His daughter had squandered her chance of ruling Robert as his queen and she was failing her chance of ruling as the queen regent. Therefore, his daughter needed to be removed from her position lest she’d do further damage to the realm.

“You can’t be serious, Father. You can’t expect us to honor the original betrothal between our houses…”

_As if the Northmen would stand for that!_ Tywin snorted and shook his head. “No, daughter, that is not what’s going to happen.”

Cersei frowned and her father observed as different scenarios flittered through her mind. Still, she was unable or unwilling to arrive at the correct one. Was it truly so unthinkable that Tywin was going to remarry?

“Speak, old man! I haven’t got the whole day!” The king decided to speak again.

Focusing his attention on Joffrey, Tywin grimaced inwardly as he looked at the boy closely. He was the same age Sansa was, only slightly younger than Lord Stark. While the hot-headed Northman would grow into his role of a competent ruler, Tywin’s grandson was a lost cause.

Even before knowing the truth about Joffrey’s sadistic streak, the boy had made so many errors. From beheading Ned Stark to starving his people, Joffrey Baratheon was an unfit king. For a moment, Lord Lannister could even understand why so many people were ready to believe the rumors about his children. The mad glint in the boy’s eyes was reminding him of the Targaryen madness, and that had been caused by incest.

One thing was certain, though. His grandson was going to live a rather short life with or without Tywin’s interference. Rabid dogs that bit and snarled at everything and everyone tended to be put down.

“Father?” Cersei asked again, a note of worry in her voice as she clutched at Joffrey’s arm to keep her son silent.

There was no way how to soften the blow, he decided. While teasing the Starks had been amusing, Tywin felt no pleasure from what he was about to do now. Sansa was surely going to derive satisfaction from this, as was Robb Stark, but this was a black day for House Lannister and Tywin.

“The peace is going to be cemented by my marriage to Lady Sansa-”

“What? That whore?”

“You cannot be serious, Father!”

“You both will hold your tongue!” Tywin roared, making his family jump up in their seats. “You will sit here and you will listen to me.”

“You cannot speak to me like that! I am the king!” screeched Joffrey as he rose from the chair, pointing at himself and then at Tywin. “Grandfather or not, you’ll show me respect!”

“Joffrey, darling… Father, he didn’t mean-”

“Silence, Cersei.” Tywin tilted his head back slightly, watching the standing boy calmly for a moment. He still managed to look down his nose at Joffrey and the king swallowed, his arm falling to his side. Lord Stark was grinning, no doubt enjoying the show. Cersei paled and tugged Joffrey back into his seat.

“Now, I will marry Lady Sansa with the gracious blessings of her family. You, my daughter, will marry a northern lord of Lord Stark’s choosing.” Tywin raised his hand to silence Cersei as she was about to protest, leveling a cold glare at her. “I am still speaking, daughter. And you, Your Grace, will abdicate immediately and take the Black.”

After his words, his daughter and grandson exploded into shouts. A golden goblet flew over Tywin’s head. Joffrey’s chair toppled backward. Cersei managed to squeeze out several fake tears as she begged him not to force her to do that again. Lord Stark exchanged a grim smile with him while Tywin’s family made a spectacle of themselves. Behind the doors, there was a brief scuffle but no one disturbed them. Joffrey’s Kingsguards were useless if their opponents weren’t unarmed girls.

“That is enough!” Tywin growled, banged his hand on the table, and ordered, “Sit down!”

“No!” Red-faced and fuming, Joffrey kicked his overturned chair and gazed insolently at him. “You lost your mind, old man! I won’t take any orders from you! This is treason! I will have your head for this! Do you hear me? I will have your head!”

Tywin slowly rose to his feet so he could loom over his grandson. Joffrey took a step back unintentionally, stumbled over the chair, and just barely managed to stay upright.

“You have brought this realm to the brink of collapse. You, boy, are overconfident but incompetent, unable to listen and learn, and unable to keep your mouth shut when it’s good for you. Those are not the characteristics a good king should have. You will take the Black or Lord Stark will take your head.”

“With pleasure, Your Grace,” added Robb savagely.

Joffrey quickly paled and then turned purple, momentarily at a loss of words.

“Think before you act. Is that too much to ask of you, my family? I pay for your guards and servants, for the food and drink you consume, for the clothes your wear,” Tywin looked between Joffrey and Cersei, barely contained rage reflected in his narrowed eyes. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way but at the end of today, the realm shall have a new king.”

Unwilling to deal with them any longer, Tywin stepped around Joffrey and nodded at the Young Wolf. “Shall we, Lord Stark? I believe we need to attend the execution of rapists and plunderers caught during the night.”

“I believe so, yes, Lord Lannister.” Robb Stark, looking rather pleased with the situation, rose to his feet as well.

“You!” As if just now reminded of his presence, Joffrey lunged at Robb, screaming, “It’s your fault!”

The older boy deftly evaded Joffrey’s punch and delivered his blow to the king’s jaw. There was a crunch and Tywin’s grandson crumpled to the ground.

“Pardon me, my lord.” Grinning from ear to ear, Robb sidestepped Joffrey as well. “I think I’m going to visit my sister first and tell her about this meeting if you could spare my presence…”

With those words and a gleeful smile, Lord Stark offered him a quick bow and hurried through the door. Tywin scoffed at the folly of youth and followed at a more sedate pace.

“Father! Father, please! You can’t mean that! We are your family and those… Those are nothing but traitors! How can you side with the Starks? They’re liars! You can’t believe a word that comes out of their mouths!” Cersei called after him, and Tywin closed his eyes briefly at the pain he heard in his daughter’s voice.

When he turned to look at her, he believed that her tears were genuine. She looked heartbroken as she knelt next to her son whose jaw had been just broken.

“Daughter,” he sighed. Where had he gone wrong with his beautiful, beautiful Cersei? He remembered her as a little girl, all poise and grace and lovely smiles. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to his children.

Tywin took a step back into the room and closed the door so the guards wouldn’t hear.

“When your mother died,” he started softly, swallowed, and averted his eyes from Cersei's face. Her expression froze, green eyes wide and mouth open. Tywin had never, not once, talked about Joanna after her death.

“When your mother died, a part of me went with her,” he finally acknowledged the truth. He had been distant with his children, too busy with the matters of the realm, too hurt to be able to show them the affection he had for them properly. “She was my soul and she was lost. Do you know what that means?”

But she couldn’t, could she? Cersei didn’t have a mark, didn’t understand. He wondered if his daughter had ever loved as deeply, as all-consumingly as Tywin loved his soul. Then again, Cersei had married Robert, and her infatuation with Rhaegar was exactly that – only an infatuation.

“I never expected to be whole again, not in this life but then… I felt what has been done to Lady Sansa,” he continued, his voice growing colder, stronger. He met his daughter’s stricken gaze and clenched his jaw. “Every blow, every kick. Cersei, I cannot even express the depth of my disappointment with what you have allowed being done to her. Were you and Joffrey not Lannisters, my blood, I would have removed your heads myself.”

Cersei placed a shaking hand in front of her mouth, her shoulders heaving with sobs, eyes pressed together when she finally understood the enormity of her actions. His witty daughter had always craved Tywin’s approval, as did all his children. But now? Perhaps one day he would be able to give it but not any time soon. Cersei had allowed her mother’s soul to be brutally beaten, and she was going to live with that knowledge for the rest of her days.

“I’ll make sure your future husband is a good man,” Tywin promised her, a last attempt to show that he still did care. Then he turned on his heel and left.

His heart was heavy and he hoped that Sansa would keep her gleefulness to herself, or share it with her brother. No matter how painful this meeting had been, Tywin was a Lannister and no debt could be left unpaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the slight delay in updates, but I finally finished ‘Blood of the Wolf,’ and had to move this chapter a little bit because of that. If you enjoy soulmate stories and like a fair share of angst and fluff, go check out that story – even though it’s not Ty/Sansa, I proudly say that it’s one of my best works *winks* 
> 
> So…. Are you guys satisfied with how Ty dealt with his family? He even considered the totally ridiculous notion that his perfect twins produced his mad grandson! That’s a huge step for our poor lion *grins*
> 
> Now, let us think about all the possible accidents that could happen on the way to the Wall, especially when one is escorted by a bunch of pissed off Northmen *smirks* Also, do you suppose that a gruff northern lord is going to put up with Cersei’s usual behavior without a word of protest? *whistles innocently*
> 
> Next time: How it all ends.
> 
> Love, Mage :)

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal love. Yuck. How right you are, Arya – who would want Ty’s eternal love I wonder? *chuckles* I always loved the scenes Tywin and Arya had – it felt like our poor lion finally found his lost cub while the said cub plotted his murder *grins* I hope the opening chapter wasn’t too disappointing. There was no Sansa, but at least there was Tywin. Shirtless. Poor Arya *giggles*
> 
> This was supposed to be another practice one-shot, but it got too long, so I decided to cut it into several chapters. The first draft is complete and updates should be pretty regular *winks* For once, I feel pleased with myself and confident that I’ll manage to post the whole story on a planned schedule *grins*  
> Next time: Tywin in all his grumpy glory informs the Starks of his intentions. What could possibly go wrong?  
> Stay safe, love Mage :)


End file.
